


Sleeping

by Dark_Earl



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, One-sided Angmar/Sauron, Sleeping Beauty | Snow White AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 12:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Earl/pseuds/Dark_Earl
Summary: AU were Mairon could save his physical body in the Downfall of Númenor but his fëa became weak for him to wake up.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, it's pure Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs but Mairon and the Nine Nazgûl, for I was seeing it 100% like this:  
> <https://dettoldisney.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/sw9.jpg>
> 
> Prologue is about the Downfall of Numenor.  
> The second chapter is about The Nazgûl.  
> Epilogue is about Melkor (sowwy I cannot betray angbang).
> 
> Also, English is not my native language and I would appreciate any beta'ing. :з

The water was cold and fierce. His clothes got wet and heavy, it stuck to the body, it tangled and dragged him down. He was grabbed by the arms and legs, and by the hair, he fought back, spending a lot of his fëa, but the maiar of Ulmo were faster in their own element than he was, the spirit of fire. Mairon strove up to the surface, but the others held him tightly, wrapping algae around his body, dragging him down into the darkness of a raging ocean. Had he been mortal, he would have been choked with sea water long ago, he would have died of cold, or the algae would have strangled him. The maiar pierced his body with sharp needles and sea tridents; they tried to destroy him once and for all, so that he could never again harm the free peoples of Middle-earth. The maiar of water hissed and screamed, and their voices were quite unlike the charming songs that the coastal elves like so much. Yet Mairon was stronger, and they could not handle him. Summoning all his despair, he screamed on a lingering minor note, full of strength and lust for life - the water around him foamed and boiled, and then he found himself on the surface, where the waves threw him from side to side, and the black, stormy sky pressed him back to the water.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean Dol Guldur didn't look exactly like the tower of Sleeping beauty?  
> <http://www.awaltzthroughdisney.com/uploads/6/2/7/6/6276678/8654087_orig.jpg>

Murazor rode on a horse into the Enchanted Wood, which even the most ancient of the elves prefered to bypass. He led his horse through the maze of bare black trees to the fortress. There, dismounting, he climbed the wide stairs to the high hall.

A long time ago it was an elven fortress. Even in the dark, one could see the carvings on the pillars and the beautiful stained glass through which the light did not penetrate. The elves abandoned this fortress and this forest a long time ago, when dark sorcery took over this place.

The Nazgûl went upstairs, walked along a dusty corridor, pushed the heavy door. It opened silently, letting him into a spacious grey bedroom.

“Welcome back, Murazor,” greeted Khamul, the second Nazgûl.

Murazor took a quick look at the bed where for two thousand years slept a maia with golden hair. Then he went to the table on the other side of the bedroom, where sat eight figures in black clothes. Murazor took an empty seat.

The Ringwraiths spent nine days in the fortress. They discussed all the events of the last century and discussed plans for the next one hundred years. While one of them stays in the fortress, the rest will continue to look for the Three Elven Rings, in the hope that they will be able to return Mairon a drop of strength so that he can wake up. Weak was that hope, but this was the last thing they could try.

On the last day, eight of those Nazgûl who were to leave the fortress, said goodbye to the Master. Afterwards, all together they renewed the spells protecting this place. The dark cloudy sky became even darker and lower, black trees closed their gnarled branches, the eternal mist became thicker. No living creature, be it an elf, a man or an orc, a beast, a bird or a fish, could pass to the Hill of Dark Sorcery, unless its power surpasses witchcraft older than the Sun and Moon.

Eight left the gate and disappeared into the fog. Murazor closed the gate with a wave of his hand and went back to the fortress. He would spend the next one hundred years here alone.

Returning back to the bedroom, he lit a new candle and set it on the nightstand next to the bed. The fire reflected a bright spark in the gold of the One Ring. Live shadows began to dance on Mairon's pale face, but he continued to sleep peacefully.

Murazor sat on the edge of the bed and gently ran his hand over Mairon’s cheek. The Master did not wake up since the Lord of the Nazgûl found him on the shore of Umbar, where he was carried by the waves that destroyed the isle of Númenor. Much has happened since then. The alliance of men and elves destroyed Mordor, men began to fight each other, and elves left Middle Earth one by one. The Master, apparently having spent all his energy struggling to survive in the Downfall of Númenor, was trapped in his own body. His strength was only enough to maintain the life of his physical shell. Only by this could Murazor explain the state of the Master, for no witchcraft and no necromancy could awake him. Their last hope was to gather all of the Rings of Power. They were able to find Three of the Seven Dwarf Rings, but the Three Elven Rings were still inaccessible. Still, Murazor understood that even if they could find all the rings, they could not take off their own to give them to the Master. Only the order of the Master can free them from their rings.

Sighing, Murazor rose and set about his routine.

Every three days he went around the fortress and made sure that no stranger entered it. The rest of the time he spent on the scrolls, which he took in the old elven library. The elves left almost everything, leaving this place in a hurry. The library of the Enchanted Fortress was not the richest, yet it contained many annals: scrolls of history, maps, legends, songs... Murazor especially liked to read about the First Age, about which he knew almost nothing when he was still mortal.

Murazor took the books in the library and returned to the bedroom. He did not like to leave Mairon alone for even a short while. Sometimes he sat down next to him on the bed and read aloud. Sometimes he sat at the table at the other end of the bedroom and read in silence. When bored, he practiced with a sword in the next room. And every evening, at about the time when The Sun was hiding behind the horizon, and night was falling in Middle-earth, he always placed his hand on Mairon’s clasped hands and kissed his forehead.

The Nazgûl himself didn’t need to sleep, and yet he could not resist the temptation to take a nap, placing the head on the Master’s lap. He could not resist not to leave him at all. Even in a dream, the Master was still as beautiful, as if Arda’s finest creation, like a piece of art created alone to be admired. Murazor could sit beside him for hours and admire his beautiful features, his golden curls and his eternal, frozen youth. He loved to lie next to him, putting his head on his chest and listening to an even heartbeat - it was so even that one could count time. He liked to hold his hands. He liked to talk about something, some stories from the past two thousand years, about men who kill each other just like that. About what he read in the annals.

About how much he missed him. About how he was ashamed that he was so powerless. About the fact that he misses the fervent gaze of gold cat eyes and the melodic voice, their war meetings and tricky strategies.

Thar he missed his Master, whom he loves with all his heart and soul.

Murazor felt absolutely powerless.

When the candle burned out, the bedroom became completely black. Only the One Ring on Miaron’s finger reflected the light of Eärendil, which got to the room through a high arched window. A ray of starlight pierced even the dark magic of Dol Guldur. 

Sighing, Murazor rose and looked at the Master.

Unable to resist, he slowly leaned over and barely touched Mairon's warm lips with his own.

Mairon slept.


	3. Epilogue

_No living creature, be it an elf, a man or an orc, a beast, a bird or a fish, could pass to the Hill of Dark Sorcery, unless its power surpasses the witchcraft which was older than the Sun and Moon._

Murazor started, and laid the scroll down. With a trembling hand, he reached for the hilt of his sword. Why did his hand tremble anyway? Someone intruded the Hill of Dark Sorcery, the Nazgûl felt the defensive spells weakening in front of incredible strength.

Murazor stood up and took the sword out of its sheath. He hid behind the door and looked at the bed. Mairon looked so helpless that Murazor swore to himself - whoever came here now, he would do everything to protect his Master.

The Nazgûl strained his ears, but his own heart beated like crazy, making it difficult to concentrate. However, the hearing was useless. Murazor felt with his whole body that someone had already entered the fortress and approached, moving without a single noise. Here, he was already walking through the hall on the second floor. He went right here. He was already behind the door…

Murazor attacked him as soon as the door opened, but the intruder, clearly waiting for an attack, dodged with ease. The Nazgul only managed to see the black silhouette, and then he was thrown against the wall.

But he did not give up. Rising, he again rushed at the stranger, trying to stick the sword in his back, but he dodged again. And again. And again.

Murazor knew his own abilities, he knew that he could fight tirelessly for a very long time, and yet weakness and fear fell on him. The sword seemed very heavy. His knees trembled, he lost his breath. The vision was blurred. He could only see the black silhouette. It towered over him, and even if Murazor did not see his face, he felt his hypnotizing gaze on him. The sword fell from his hand, falling to the stone floor with a loud crash. The Nazgûl himself fell to his knees, unable to stand. The black silhouette seemed to be even taller. He rounded Murazor and stepped toward the bed, but Murazor, with his last strength, grabbed him by the edge of his coat. Smoky fabric slipped to the floor, and the stranger turned around.

He looked like an elf, but he was taller than any elf Murazor had ever met. He had long black hair that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. His face was rough, and ugly scars crossed it.

He was not an elf, Murazor could swear on that.

The stranger grinned with his thin lips.

“You are brave and devoted,” his voice was low, hollow, but melodious. Also, he spoke in Quenya. “I will not kill you”.

He turned away and stepped towards the bed again. Murazor tried to reach out to hold him, but he could no longer move. He could only watch.

No-elf sat on the bed next to Mairon and gently ran his hand over his golden hair. Murazor noticed that his hands were black. Then he lowered his hand to the hands of maia and smiled, touching the One Ring with his fingers. Gold happily sparkled under his touch.

And then the stranger sang. He squeezed Mairon’s snow-white hand with his black one and hummed an ancient melody. Murazor felt dizzy from his singing. It seemed that the sound passes through the whole body and even through the soul. This song could not be called melodic, yet there was some kind of harmony in it. All the instruments were combined at once in one voice.

Mairon suddenly took a deep breath and exhaled with a satisfied moan. He blinked and opened his eyes lazily, and the no-elf fell silent and smiled.

“Melkor?.. You're back,” Mairon croaked.

“Yes, my precious. I’m back.”

Murazor sighed. At least, his Master was awake again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [@ttrtru](https://ttrtru.tumblr.com/), sorry, no actual somnophilia in here :D


End file.
